


Party of Three

by Quakey (Quak3y)



Category: Cable and Deadpool
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Headcanon on how Neena's (Domino's) powers work and feel, I have no idea what I'm doing, M/M, Swearing, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 23:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20591192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quak3y/pseuds/Quakey
Summary: Nate invites Neena to a party.  This would be great, except she's not the only one he invites...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration came from a strange place: _Party of Three_ by Ninja Sex Party (NSP), and was further enabled by the Discord server (y’all know who y’all are).
> 
> The countries are completely fictitious, in the style of Marvel comics everywhere and everywhen. Resemblance to any actual countries is completely accidental.
> 
> Yes, I’m aware Domino and Deadpool do not both live on Providence and are not involved with Nate at the same time. So, not canon compliant, canon divergent. Don’t care, I wanted to write this. But the times when they’re both in Nate’s circle of influence is the time period where Nate is using artificial augments to replace his telepathy and telekinesis, so I’ve included that and it is mentioned here and there.
> 
> I don’t usually write cis female POV and I don't believe I've ever written M/F before, so this is quite a stretch goal. Hopefully it’s believable. I have no idea what I’m doing. xD

Neena isn’t expecting Nathan to invite her to anything resembling a date, and she certainly isn’t expecting him to invite her to a formal state dinner. Yet that’s exactly what happened and why she’s currently in her Providence apartment, double-checking her makeup while she waits for Nathan to come to her door.

It’s weird, honestly. Recalls other times and places when they’d tried to pretend they were normal people and could go on normal dates at normal restaurants with normal results afterwards.

Then again, this entire Providence thing is weird. Being near Nathan, not as a fighter but just as … support? Firepower, if needed, but so far her firepower’s been just for show. She can stand around looking intimidating all she likes and still no one is attacking Providence.

She’s bored to tears.

Almost makes attending a peace conference of smaller nations seem exciting.

A knock interrupts her musings, and she straightens away from the mirror in the hallway, picking up her handbag from the table underneath. She quickly smoothes her dress one final time and moves to answer, heels clicking purposefully.

Nathan smiles when the door opens, eyes flicking up and down just long enough to be appreciative, just quickly enough to stay politely casual. She smiles back, although she wishes the effect of the long, shimmering black dress, with its high thigh slit on one side and diving curves of white and light blue along the deep vee of the neck line, would get a little bit more of a rise out of him. Figuratively. Maybe literally.

After all, he looks pretty spectacular himself in his dark suit and light blue tie, highlighted by white hair and the occasional startling flicker from his left eye and the glint of metal at cuff and collar, techno-organic fibers crawling up the side of his neck. That much muscle and metal really wasn’t made to be contained in formal wear, but it works for him, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and, well, the breadth everywhere else too. Nathan really is not a small man.

“You look beautiful,” he says sincerely, bending to press a kiss to her lips, one that lingers just a little bit longer than necessary, and she feels gratified and a little smug that he’s thinking about more than business this evening. Maybe this _will_ be more like a date. “Ready?”

“Of course,” she nods. “We’re going by jet?”

“Quicker and easier to bodyslide,” he counters.

She frowns. She’s traveled by bodyslide with Nathan many times, but these days there’s a bit of a problem with that. A glitch. An unavoidable addition, as it were. “But that means …”

“Nate!” someone calls loudly from down the corridor. Two heads turn to see Deadpool striding toward them.

Deadpool wearing a suit, to be precise.

He’s decked out in the same dark shade as Nathan, which he fills out almost as broadly, a little less massively and a little proportionally narrower at the hip, and he’s wearing his mask tucked into the neck of the white dress shirt. An untied black tie covered with red Deadpool logos is dangling around his neck. The absence of his katanas, nothing but empty space jutting above his shoulders, is almost disconcerting.

“That means you’re bringing Deadpool,” she finishes, suddenly feeling tired, drained before the evening even starts.

“I’m on time, right? I know you said be on time. And wear nice clothes. Hope you don’t mind the mask, but it’s kinda my _thing_ and you said state dinner, so I don’t want any of the government people throwing up in their fancy food.”

“Yes, Wade, you’re on time,” Nathan confirms, sounding vaguely amused, gaze sweeping up and down, slower than he had with her, and Neena feels a startled flush of jealousy. She’s telling herself it’s just her imagination even as there’s a flash from Nathan’s eye, as if to further imply he likes what he sees.

Nathan takes a step, closing the space between himself and Deadpool, and Neena sees the other man freeze, sees him startle slightly as Nathan reaches for the tie. Sees what follows.

“Hey! I was gonna, just hadn’t gotten to it…” Deadpool protests weakly.

Nate ignores him, flipping up the other man’s collar and expertly adjusting the length on each side, as if this was something he’d been doing his whole life instead of something he probably learned in his thirties or forties. Sometimes Neena thinks that Nathan’s real superpower isn’t his telekinesis or his telepathy, but his resiliency. His ability to take a situation and learn it, adapt to it, master it, outstrip the people he learned it from.

Deadpool makes a grumpy noise but tips his head back, neck a tense but willing curve, letting Nathan’s fingers pick at the Deadpool-print silk, pulling and looping and adjusting.

“Are you doing a Windsor?” he complains. “Everyone does a Windsor. It’s like writers have no creativity.”

“It’s classic,” Nate replies calmly, giving some firmer tugs as he coaxes the knot into shape, pulls the tie snug around Wade’s neck and smoothes his shirt collar back down over it.

He even fiddles with Deadpool’s suit jacket, twitching it into place. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his hands _linger_ for a moment on Deadpool’s shoulders, just a light brush of fingertips and half a breath too long standing too close before hands drop and Nathan steps back next to her.

“Feels like a noose,” Deadpool grumbles, scarred finger already pulling at the back of the knot to try to loosen it.

“Stop that,” Nathan says, and amazingly Deadpool _does_, hands twitching down to his sides instead. “Your suit has a _collar_, Wade. I can’t imagine it feels any tighter than that.”

“Principle of the thing,” Deadpool … Wade? ... mutters, glancing at her and Nathan and then quickly away, body language strained and … not irritable exactly. Certainly tense. Embarrassed? Defensive?

She sighs quietly. The image of a nice, intimate date with Nathan, maybe some subtle international espionage or having to intimidate some politicians, drains away. It’s replaced by reality: a date with Nathan with Deadpool as the third wheel. No, that's not quite right. Deadpool as … as … she’s not sure. Third something.

She’d wonder what the _hell_ Nathan was thinking, except she’d just seen the way his fingers had just touched as if permission was already given, and the way Deadpool had stood perfectly still and _let_ him. It’s the same way she’s seen him line up a shot for Nathan, take his orders without question. Apparently whatever Nathan wants, Deadpool is willing to give.

It’s exactly the kind of loyalty Nathan prefers in his fighters.

She doesn’t exactly want to think about what that says about her.

Or about the comparison it draws between her and a certain scarred merc.

What even is her life anyway?

“Fine,” she says brusquely. “Let’s get this over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to shame and/or inspire myself into finishing the rest of this. Is it working? XD


	2. Chapter 2

Their arrival at the top of the steps of the venue is literally flashy and results in eight separate guns aimed at them by the time they finish materializing. Nathan just smiles, charm with an undercurrent of threat, offers his arm to Neena, and walks toward the huge, open double doors. Red carpet spills through the doors and down the steps into the night, and she’s abruptly reminded of blood running down and hopes the night won’t end that way. Deadpool shadows them a few steps behind, shoes scuffing softly so she knows where he is.

Some unremarkable young official, smartly dressed in a way that says it’s her job to look the picture of etiquette and decorum as she welcomes dignitaries, meets them, expression warring between deferential and uneasy.

“President Summers. Welcome to Caborea and the first annual Caborea Peace Summit. I see,” she quickly checks the tablet in her hand, “Ms. Thurman is accompanying you. But, I’m sorry, who is this…?” She trails off, staring at Wilson in his suit and Deadpool mask.

“My bodyguard,” Nathan supplies, as if that answers everything instead of almost nothing.

“But who _is_ he?” The official is doing her best to not be intimidated, but Neena notices she goes a little pale as Deadpool glowers at her.

“Wade Wilson, a resident of Providence,” Nathan answers, as if this is the most boring and normal answer possible. “Please check your list again, I’m quite sure he’s included.”

“No, I’m really sure he’s _not_…” The woman trails off as her eyes drop to the tablet and she does a double-take.

Neena resists the urge to laugh. She’d been watching the screen and seen a line pop into existence only a moment before. Nathan is obviously using his connection to the Infonet for his personal convenience.

There are some stammered apologies and then the young woman waves them toward the doors, staring at her tablet distrustfully.

Nathan strides forward, Neena on his arm, and she realizes they’re playing parts right now. The dramatic, larger-than-life Savior and his beautiful and obviously mutant date. She’s not sure what role Deadpool is playing, as he walks impassively a few paces behind them. Cameras click frantically from behind a rope line to one side, several cameramen and women with press passes around their necks doing their best to get a shot of the new arrivals.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to RSVP properly?” she asks quietly, smiling prettily for the cameras as she does so.

“Certainly,” Nathan replies softly, “_if_ I had wanted to advertise Wade’s presence ahead of time. Which I didn’t.”

Then they step through an inner set of doors that open onto a large, open ballroom … and Nathan sets off the metal detector.

After the official with the tablet comes running and Nate helpfully walks through the doors several times by himself to prove it’s him and not Neena setting the thing off, the official stares with wide, helpless eyes from Nathan’s metal hand to neck and then back to his tablet, as if praying to the gods of protocol to tell her what to do when your guest’s body sets off the metal detector. She finally waves them onward again and guns stop being pointed at them.

Neena hesitates and glances back as Deadpool steps through the doors. Amazingly, the metal detector does _not_ light up. Neena isn’t entirely sure if this means Wilson is unarmed--the little glass fiber composite knife nestled in a slim thigh sheath under her dress is proof the security here is woefully inadequate, even with very obviously armed, military guards every ten feet around the periphery of the large space--but at least it means he doesn’t have his usual arsenal on him.

Wilson steps up beside them as Nathan slows to survey the noise and light, the muted roar and tinkle and slowly swirling mass of humanity that is a very fancy reception in full swing.

“I feel naked,” he complains softly, leaning close enough his shoulder brushes Nathan’s arm. “No guns. No swords. No knives. Not even a grenade. The things I do for you, Nate.”

“I appreciate that you followed my directions,” Nate says calmly, looking away from the scene before him to make eye contact--or eye-to-mask contact--for a few seconds, apparently truly sincere.

It’s only the faintest of thanks, and yet Neena notices Wade shift his posture, shoulders rolling back a bit and standing straighter. Obviously gobbling up any tidbit of praise that Nate is willing to throw his way.

Then Nate looks down at her and smiles warmly, offers his arm again, and she feels a little flutter in her chest, understands exactly how Wade feels. Damn it. The big idiot has both of them wrapped around his little techno-organic finger. She can’t decide whether to resent him for it or admire the way he’s managing to play it to his benefit.

Which, if she has to be honest, is a pretty common feeling to have around Nate.

They mingle. There are glasses of wine, which she and Nathan take but only pretend to sip and Wade doesn’t bother with, and little bits of food that she and Nathan turn down but which Wade continually snags from passing servers with a complete lack of manners, pushing his mask up long enough to shove them into his mouth.

And there’s the conversation. She’s right there next to Nate, smiling and laughing at the right moments and saying the right, pleasant, meaningless things. A lot of the people here are men, older, typical politicians no matter what country they hail from, usually accompanied by a wife but sometimes by an almost comically younger date. There are a few women too, also older, jaded and business-like, determined and powerful enough to have made a career in a realm usually dominated by men. They all play at being open-minded and modern, but most of them look at her and it’s obvious what they think: young, pretty, and mutant. An exotic toy to adorn the arm (and bed) of the formerly-most-powerful mutant in the world. Nothing important. Certainly nothing dangerous.

It makes her quietly angry. But only a little, not enough to break cover, not enough to stop smiling or making small talk the way everyone expects her to.

Wade isn’t expected to say anything. He just hangs back, a step behind and to the side of Nathan’s other shoulder, and looks menacing. Neena wonders if Nate coached him on it, or if Wade is just winging it, but either way it’s working. She wasn’t expecting it, but she’s actually feeling a little bit of respect for him; when she’d realized she was saddled with Deadpool for the evening, she’d been willing to bet he would disembowel someone with a cocktail fork or start stripping clothes off within half an hour. She’s relieved to be proven wrong. It’s a lot less trouble for both her and Nate this way.

Possibly, she thinks as she sneaks another glance at Wade lurking and trying to be subtle about sneaking glances at their mutual boss several times a minute, being less trouble for Nate is exactly why he’s being so uncharacteristically appropriate.

Or, she silently amends, as Wilson relieves a server of the contents of his entire tray of appetizers while brusquely informing the man he should make the tiny bits of food _bigger_ if he didn’t want it to happen, at least he’s being appropriate by Deadpool standards.

“Mr. President, on behalf of Providence, thank you for your invitation,” Nathan is saying politely, smiling down from over a foot of height difference, shaking another hand. The hand is attached to another politician, this one short and rounded, with a face that reminds her of a pig, partly because of his turned up nose and multiple chins and partly because her instincts take an instant dislike to him. The contrast between him and Nate is so immense, soft and self-indulgent facing hard and disciplined, as to be comical.

“I'm so glad you could come to our summit. Are you and this lovely lady,” his gaze lingers a good two seconds on her cleavage, “enjoying yourselves?”

“Yes, Mr. President, we are. May I introduce Neena Thurman? Neena, this is President Kimael of Caborea.”

“Miss Thurman. So good of you to join us. You make the event lovelier with your presence.” His eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles in a way that ought to be jolly, but instead again reminds her of something porcine. It probably has something to do with the fact that his gaze is drifting lower again while he says it.

“Neena is one of my best security experts,” Nate says, tone just a little sharper.

“Ah yes, security. Very important, I'm sure. Although from what you say, Providence is a very peaceful place. Must be a very easy job for your lovely lady, hm?”

While Neena is trying to decide if ‘accidentally’ stomping one of her high heels on his foot is worth it, the man is already turning to look at Wade with interest.

“This one … your bodyguard? Wasn’t he responsible for your untimely near-demise? Do you really feel safe with your personal Judas behind you? I doubt your _security expert_,” the air quotes are very obvious, “can do much to protect you from him.”

Even through the mask, Neena can tell that Wade's eyes are narrowing, just like her own.

“As a matter of fact, I feel perfectly safe,” Nate replies quickly and smoothly, but with his eye flaring brightly enough that Neena knows he’s annoyed. “Thank you for the welcome and I look forward to speaking more at dinner. But for now, we should continue to mingle.”

“Of course, go ahead. I’ll see you later, my dear.” This last is said with a wink at Neena.

Nate quickly loops an arm around her shoulders and steers her away, Wade falling into step beside him.

“So, girls usually slap me and tell me I’m an ass, and even _I_ thought that guy was really slimy,” Wade offers, once Nate has led them to a quieter corner of the room.

“I’m going to castrate him if he tries to touch me,” Neena seethes. “Or if he stares at my chest again!”

“And why don’t you bother telling anyone what really happened with the lobotomizing thingie?” Wade complains.

Nate sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I agree, he was an ass, but a very important ass. Neena, no. Just knee him in the groin. Wade, they wouldn’t believe me.”

“Come on, everyone believes you. They think you walk on water!”

“Don’t underestimate humanity and the hive mind. They’re certain you’re the villain, and not even ‘the Savior’ saying otherwise is going to change their minds. They’ll just say I’m too forgiving or that I’m trying to give you a second chance.”

“I’m going to kick him in the balls and break his nose,” Neena grumbles.

“No fair, _I_ want to break his nose,” Wade grouses.

Nate sighs and gives them both a stern look.

“No one is breaking anything. Yet. Stay professional, both of you. We have a couple more hours to go.”

“I _am_ a professional. A professional _mercenary_,” Neena mutters, annoyed that she’s having to put up with this shit and can’t even shoot anything.

“Patience,” Nate says, infuriatingly calm. But he bends down to kiss her lightly, which is some consolation.

“I’m a mercenary too,” Wade whines, and Neena nearly groans against Nate’s lips, because if that isn’t Wade jealous for Nate’s attention too, then she’s not sure _what_ it is.

Nate just smiles at Wade and says, “Indeed,” and leads them back into battle.

A battle of proper social behavior and small talk.

Soon there’s an announcement and servers are respectfully herding them through doors into the dining space. It’s huge and high, chandeliers with an ostentatious amount of sparkling crystal hanging from the dark, wood-paneled ceiling. More armed security is stationed every ten feet or so around the perimeter of the room, still as respectful statues. Round tables are arranged in perfectly-spaced islands of place settings and sparkling floral centerpieces, but the tables Nate guides them toward are _of course_ the seats of honor on a slightly raised dais, long tables arrayed end-to-end across it.

She and Nate are seated almost at the center, other dignitaries and politicians and state officials and their companions being led to other seats to right and left. Wade doesn’t have a seat--being able to edit the Infonet at will doesn’t change the physical reality of pre-printed place cards--but he just steps back a few paces to stand against the wall. He settles with feet apart and hands clasped in front of his body, still and watchful. It appears he’s still taking his role seriously.

Neena leans closer to Nate as she flicks the thick napkin into her lap.

“So,” she murmurs, soft enough she’s sure only he can hear, “what’s the game here?”

“The President of Caborea, who’s taken such a liking to you and is going to be sitting to my left, is hosting this peace summit.”

“Peace summit? Or expensive party?” She frowns as she pokes at one of the centerpieces, peonies and peace lilies and greenery arranged in a broad basin of water and iridescent glass pebbles.

“Names, Neena. If we sit here and talk about peace around the world once or twice, make some good statements for the press afterwards, of course it’s a ‘peace summit’.”

“You don’t sound convinced. And why is that little slimeball so interested in peace?”

“It makes him look good. Also, they’re in a cold war with the neighboring country of Yailan. Their leader is seated to your right. Perhaps they’re truly interested in finding a way forward.” His tone says he doesn’t believe it.

“Where are the big countries? The US? Britain? China? Russia?”

“It would be beneath them to send a delegation to such a small, relatively poor and unimportant place.”

“But yet you’re here?”

“I’ve made it clear Providence stands for a world at peace. This is exactly where I need to be.”

“Right between two feuding idiots?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, this should be interesting,” Neena mutters.

“I sincerely hope so,” Nate replies, dark and amused, mouth curling in a slow, sly, predatory smile.

She shoots him a suspicious look, suddenly _absolutely_ sure there's something he's not sharing.

Before she can demand answers, the two leaders in question reach the table and take their seats. The President of Caborea smiles at her and Nate like they're his best friends and he plans to sell them out by the end of the night, charm and slime together. The post-middle-age leader on the other side is almost the opposite, thin and dour and slightly stooped, wearing a military uniform with a chest filled with little colored strips of military ribbons.

Neena is willing to bet most of those ribbons amount to _I sent someone else to die for _my_ problem._

Guests and dignitaries and their entourages all find their seats, conversation building in a steady wave of sound. Neena smiles at her neighbor and tries to talk to him, but gives up after several curt answers. Servers start to circulate, unobtrusively pouring more drinks.

President Kimael stands as the last guests take their seats, raising his hands dramatically. The unintelligible murmured roar of many voices slows, falters, and finally stops. After a few moments of purposeful silence, the president lowers his arms again and speaks.

“Ladies and gentlemen from near and far: welcome to Caborea. It is an honor to have you with us tonight. For our goal is peace. Peace for us. Peach for our children. Peace so we can live in contentment, without struggle or conflict. Tonight we can come a little closer to our goal.

“My thanks to the leaders of neighboring nations who have joined us tonight.” He gestures to his left at two politicians and their spouses and introduces them. Polite applause ripples across the audience. “They are Caborea’s strongest allies, committed to peace, as I am. May our countries continue in their beneficial coexistence!”

He lifts his glass in a toast and the audience joins him in a discordant chorus of “To peace!”

This guy is laying it on thick. Neena makes a face into her glass, once again pretending to sip. Too many years of covert ops have trained her never to accept a drink in enemy territory.

“I also welcome President Nathan Summers of Providence! He is a man who stands for peace, for humanity to unite against common threats! How appropriate that he can be here tonight.”

This gets a short but vigorous burst of applause.

“And lastly, I welcome King Maksim of Yailan. Our countries are currently divided, animosity and bickering coming between two peoples who were once great friends, but I believe that after tonight that will come to an end. A _swift_ end.”

President Kimael raises his glass again for a second toast and the audience again happily choruses “To peace!”

Neena doesn’t bother with the second toast; instead she’s watching the president intently. Something feels wrong and she’s trying to think it through, think why Nate is here at a peace summit between openly hostile nations. Here in the middle of it … with his two best fighters. There’s no reason to bring her and Wade … unless he thinks he’s going to need them.

Oh shit.

In the next instant she sees the president nod toward the back of the room, sees four of the stationed guards instantly shift and swing their rifles to their shoulders. She’s moving the instant they are, and the world is slow motion. The dinner plate and salad plate in front of her are in her hand and she feels her ability whispering to her, lets it control her timing. The rifles are swinging toward the king next to her and the plates fly from her fingers just as four shots crack almost simultaneously.

The plates shatter in front of the table in a shower of porcelain shards. _Luckily_ none of them hit him or her or Nate, and the bullet ricochets somewhere harmless.

The guests start screaming their heads off a split second later.

_“Silence!!”_

The roar is megalomaniacal enough to actually have the desired effect. President Kimael is still standing there, calmly, as though he hadn't just tried and failed to assassinate another country’s leader. Something about all the rifles in the room raised and pointing at the crowd might have something to do with the crowd’s compliance. There's the sound of shuffling and of muffled sobbing from several places.

“Your security expert _is_ impressive after all,” Kimael says conversationally, theoretically at Nate, although his eyes are locked on her instead. “Unfortunately, it will do you no good. This ends tonight. No one will leave this room alive tonight, except for Caboreans. I will reclaim our ancestral lands, reunite our divided peoples! And purge the world of one meddling intruder mutant!” he finishes, stabbing a finger dramatically toward the leader of Providence.

As megalomaniacal rants go, it’s not bad, Neena thinks to herself.

“You!” President Maksim exclaims toward Nate, face white and fists clenched on the tabletop. “Stop him! Your powers, you can!”

And Nate, damn his smug face, just shrugs.

“There was a formal dress code. I left my gravimetric field generator in my other suit.”

King Maksim only looks surprised for a moment, then slowly stands, tugging down his uniform jacket. The rifles all remain trained on him, but apparently the lack of sudden or obviously threatening moves means that no one feels like getting trigger happy.

“So I thought. You are defenseless. It is for the best. In this one thing, the traitor Kimael and I are agreed: you are an intruder, your death will be welcome. But,” he turns baleful eyes on the other leader, who is standing on the other side of Nate and her, still looking smug and utterly unconcerned, “you have attacked me. You have attacked Yailan. We are a proud nation, with ancient traditions. Ancient arts.” His eyes narrow, glaring at President Kimael. “We also came here to solve a problem. _Several_ problems,” he adds meaningfully as his eyes shift to Nate. “You should not have come unarmed, for we did not!”

Which is when the ninjas burst through the ceiling panels.

Neena shouts a curse and flips their section of the table up and over as all hell breaks loose, simultaneous cacophony of screams and ringing steel and automatic rifle fire. Nate, the Caborean president, and the Yailan king all lunge behind the table’s cover. She pulls the little knife out of her thigh holster just as Maksim suddenly has ceramic throwing stars in his hands, and she's twisting and lunging as he flings them at her. She feels one brush her hair, the other cutting a long gash in her dress, a hair’s breadth away from skin, as she twists through the air. She has a brief glimpse of Wade vaulting the table right over her flying body. Then her knife is buried in the king’s shoulder and he screams, the high, surprised sound of someone who’s not used to actually taking damage.

While he’s staggering back she kicks him in the face. _Hard._ He stumbles, reaches under his jacket, so she kicks him again. He goes down this time in a boneless heap and doesn’t move.

She looks up and toward the main floor in time to see Wade take at least five rifle shots to the chest, stagger, and then roundhouse kick a startled ninja, grabbing the assailant's katana and running him through.

Several soldiers dash forward but they slip on the scattered marbles from the centerpieces she’d sent tumbling when she flipped the table. She ducks down and turns toward Kim, only to find him drawing a gun from inside his suit and aiming it at Nate.

She flings herself forward toward Kimael as Nathan throws up his left arm in front of his face. She shoves with her hand as she passes, moves his massive bulk maybe an inch to the left, and the bullets ricochet off techno-organic metal instead of embedding themselves in his head.

“Nate, catch!” she hears Wade yell. She doesn’t look, is too busy swinging her knee and her arm at the same time.

The handgun goes spinning high into the air from the underhand chop she gives his arm, and then her knee collides in an incredibly satisfying manner with his crotch.

She gives it just a second, watches his mouth open in a silent, wheezing oh, eyes wide and face white as he collapses, and then punches him in the face hard enough she’s sure his nose breaks, a burst of rifle fire passing through the air she’d just been occupying.

Then she puts out her hand where it feels right and the handgun falls neatly into her palm.

She shouts, “Theoretical my ass!” and pistol whips him hard enough to knock him out.

Ducking back down under cover of the table, she assesses the situation, finds Nate now in possession of two rifles, popping up from behind the table every few seconds to fire bursts with military precision.

The guests apparently all have working brains, because they’ve dived under tables and seem to be staying down and out of the line of fire, huddled together in sobbing, screaming masses.

Quickly scurrying back to Maksim, she jerks her knife out of his shoulder, uses it to hurriedly cut her dress off at mid-thigh, then rip the skirt into strips. Those make quick work of hogtying both Maksim and Kimael, both still unconscious.

Then she turns her attention back to the battle raging around her.

“Well done!” Nate yells as she slides up next to him.

“You’re suicidal!” she yells back, popping up over the table to fire all the bullets left in the handgun, then hurling it hard enough to bounce off an enemy’s forehead and drop him.

In another 30 seconds, Nate’s cover fire has taken out the remaining soldiers, and the last few attacking ninjas are suddenly looking uncertain and glancing right and left for exits. It’s a little like whack-a-mole, watching them scurry as Wade chases them down one after another with his two stolen katanas and happily runs them through or lops off their heads. He’s making a show of it, she thinks, as he does a twirl that seems purely for show and the fun of it, bloody katanas tracing arcs through the air around him, an acrobatic dance routine of silver and red.

The last ninja dies with a bloody gurgling sound and the thuds of a body and head hitting the floor separately and suddenly there’s silence except for muffled whimpers and escalating hysterics and heavy breathing from Wade.

Nate pulls a cell phone out of his suit jacket pocket as he stands, holding it to his ear.

“Irene? I’m uploading a video to you . I need you to spread it to all the major networks. I need Caborea and Yailan both discredited for breaking international law and attempted assassination. … Yes, I’m fine. … Yes, they’re fine too. … We’ll be bodysliding back in a few minutes.”

As Nate talks, Wade lopes back toward them, an apex predator returning from the kill. He’s an absolute _mess_, bullet holes and katana cuts all over his suit and mask, blood everywhere, a sword still grasped in each hand. Neena’s watching him with mingled admiration and disgust, until something tells her to glance at Nate instead.

His voice is completely calm as ends the call with Irene and tucks his phone away, and yet he’s watching Wade intently, as if nothing else in the whole room could break his focus. She’s looking _right at him_, and she sees how dark his eyes are, the way his breath is a bit quicker than usual, the extreme, intent, hungry _interest_ that’s radiating off him.

Well, shit.

Wade vaults over the table again, grinning under the mask, focus just as completely on Nate as Nate’s is on him.

“This is probably the most fun I’ve ever had on a date,” he quips, but there’s a huskiness to it. Maybe he’s just getting his breath back from the fight. Or not. “You know how to treat a girl right, even if you did forget to bring me flowers.”

“You seemed bored on Providence,” Nate says with a grin, attention reflected back at Wade, and maybe that’s just amusement in his voice or maybe it has a decidedly _fond_ note. “I thought you could use some excitement.”

“I was bored too!” Neena snaps, irrationally and spectacularly jealous in the moment and wanting Nate’s focus back on _her_. Oh god. She’s acting just like Wade.

But to her surprise, Nate instantly turns to her, expression changing to something softer but no less intense.

“Of course. That’s why I brought you too.” He looks from one to the other of them as he smiles and says, “I knew I could count on both of you.”

Neena is warmed by the compliment and smiles, but Wade? His body language is so awkward, pleased yet trying not to show it, that she wonders when someone last gave him regular compliments.

She’s thinking about all of it while Nate goes and opens the locked doors to the reception hall, lets the press and the other security pour in from outside, and starts loudly and clearly explaining what just happened, outlining his demands to lock up the corrupt leaders and have democratic free elections, blah blah blah.

Is she imagining this whole thing? She glances over at Wade on a whim and finds him patiently watching Nathan. Just … waiting. No Deadpool antics. No misbehaving. Just … waiting. Watching.

Finally Nate finishes and comes back to where they’re standing a few feet apart. He claps Wade on the shoulder and lays one more gently on Neena’s and says, “Good work, both of you.” Wade grins under the mask, and she can’t help but smile.

Then Nate says, “Bodyslide by three,” and the room falls away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My summary of this chapter:  
Wade is a puppy.  
Nate, will you ever learn to not keep secrets?  
Neena fucks some shit up. I love her.
> 
> I am fully aware I am not giving the international conflict, warring nations, etc. quite the depth it deserves. I also now understand why villains in movies, comics, etc. tend to be such one-dimensional, megalomaniacs: writer laziness. I just wanna write my little story, I need a villain here, I don't want to bore anyone with several pages of political intrigue, my villain is just going to start shooting and asking questions later! :D
> 
> (It's something I've now learned is a potential weakness and I'll be on the lookout for it in my future stories. But I'm just posting this as-is because, well, I'm just writing for fun. ^^ No reason to get too serious about this, yes?) 
> 
> The porn is next chapter. :3


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